


Half Sick of Shadows

by Eleutherios



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Short, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleutherios/pseuds/Eleutherios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius Black spends a lot of time peering into his mirror these days.</p><p>Warnings for depression, PTSD and abandonment issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half Sick of Shadows

  _Out flew the web and floated wide-_  
 _The mirror crack'd from side to side;_  
 _"The curse is come upon me," cried_  
 _The Lady of Shalott._  


When Sirius gives him the mirror, it’s with high hopes and a light heart.  He knows what Molly thinks, that he’s getting Harry and James mixed up, but he’s not, not really.  Harry’s his own person, but Sirius can see so much of James in him, in the wild hair, the rule-breaking, the healthy sense of contrarianism.  They could have so much fun together, if the world was fair.  Sirius wanted to be able to see his godson off to school and take him on motorcycle rides that would give Molly palpitations and just walk down the street talking to him like a regular person instead of as a dog.

And so what if he’s giving Harry James’ old mirror so they can talk like he and James used to?  Boy’s got a right to keep in touch.

He forces himself not to check the mirror the first night after Harry leaves.  He’s fifteen, boy needs his own space.  It’s a struggle, though, and Moony (who’s never quite lost the whole Head Boy air and frowns disapprovingly when Sirius puts the idea of the mirrors to him) just gives him a sympathetic look.  Sirius breaks a dish out of spite.

He checks it the next night, though.  Nothing.  The night after that yields the same result.

It’s okay, he tells himself; he’s just gotten back to school, he’s taking time to settle in.  McGonagall always gives homework the first week back to make sure they haven’t gotten lazy over the summer, it’s probably that.

Days become weeks.  Sirius spends more and more time in his room at Grimmauld Place, sitting in the musty darkness holding the mirror, waiting for it to cloud over and clear again, waiting to see the shock of bird’s nest hair and Lily’s eyes.  Week after week, there’s nothing.  About a month in, he snaps and decides to make first contact.  Maybe Harry’s shy, or doesn’t want to seem dependent.  James was just like that at fifteen.  After the third night in a row without an answer, he stops trying.  He hasn't the heart to say "Harry Potter" with his breath misting the glass again and not get an answer.

Harry sends letters, but they’re not the same.  You can’t hear a letter laugh, or watch its face carefully for signs of unhappiness.  Letters don’t tell you anything important.  Still, he reads and rereads each one, treating them like sacred treasures, and sends long, thoughtful replies.

He shouts at Remus, is cold to Tonks, sullen to Moody and ferociously defaces or destroys various Black family heirlooms.  He takes to pushing dishes or cups off the kitchen counter if anyone leaves them there, a small rebellion, the only expression of anger he’s allowed locked up in this place he’s always hated.

He cheers up during the holidays, with Grimmauld Place full of light and laughter.  Harry’s looking a little more haggard these days, so Sirius tries to make Christmas as bright and happy as he can, singing carols in the corridors and attempting to mull wine.  He’s not sure, but he thinks that when Harry leaves for school again, a few of the shadows are gone from his face.  He hopes so.

Then the holly is taken down and the candles are put away again and everyone leaves Sirius alone in the dark.  And night after night he sits on his bed, holding his mirror.

 _Maybe he’s forgotten about me_.

_Tonight he’ll remember.  Or maybe tomorrow.  Surely he’ll remember.  Maybe today he'll pick it up and say hello.  
_

_Maybe he doesn't want to.  
_

He starts refusing to get out of bed, spending whole days lying there, staring at the ceiling, mirror at his side.  Molly and Moony are worried, but he jams a chair under the door to keep them out.  He begins to dream about Azkaban again, screaming nightmares that see him curled up under the covers trying not to vomit.  Sometimes he doesn't sleep at all, but just sits up all night with his mirror, thinking and thinking about being alone in the dark forever and going mad with the terror of it.

Sirius stares up at the Muggle pinup girls stuck to his walls.  He takes out a marker and draws on one, giving her buck teeth and crossed eyes and seating her on a veiny cock and balls.  It doesn't make him feel any better.

The night Harry and his damn fool friends run off to the Ministry, Sirius is in his room, mirror in his hand.  Kreacher’s making noise downstairs, but Sirius ignores him.  No one else is home.

Suddenly, doors are slamming and someone is calling for him.  It’s Tonks; she begins hammering on his door.

‘Sirius, get out here!’ she yells.  ‘It’s Harry, Harry’s in trouble –’

Sirius is out of bed in an instant.  As he throws on his coat, he thinks, _Well, it’s not how I’d have chosen to do it, but at least I can see him face-to-face again!_

The mirror lies on his bed, completely forgotten.  Despite the danger, it's with high hopes and a light heart that he rushes out into the night with Tonks.  Danger, excitement, seeing Harry again – just like old times, with Prongs and Moony out under the moonlight.  He won’t have to look into that damned mirror ever again.


End file.
